I think it is fairly easy to conclude that with the advent of social networking and information being streamed online, the paper-back versions of long stories and short stories alike are facing an uphill struggle to retain readership.

Where once books were the best companions of intellectuals, as they still are, such type of intellectuals are themselves dwindling. A new age has begun. This is the age where you can download ‘e-books’, read them on your kindle, your tablet, your computer or even your smartphone.

This outsourcing of literature has made literature accessible to a wide range of audience. Moreover, the cost for doing so is remarkably low which means the cost at which these books, or more appropriately the ‘e-books’, are sold is also lower than the ones available in the market in a physical, hardcopy format.

However, there has been an unforeseen negative consequence of literature outsourcing as well. When someone is accessing a book via a smartphone, a tablet or a computer, he or she will become more susceptible to ‘distractions’ because these devices offer a variety of other exciting services that are available if internet access is available, or even without it.

These distractions mean that not only would less people actually read the books they have downloaded, but they will tend to read shorter books so that they could ‘expend’ more time in ‘discovering’ the world of internet.

I have a confession – one that isn’t so dodgy or isn’t as surprising as one would expect – but no matter, it still is a confession, which makes it exciting. I have lived for eighteen years now, and I do not know how to drive. There you go, the inflated balloon has now flown past you with such a demeanour that it doesn’t even deserve a second thought, but whatever. I modestly know how to code, I modestly know how to solve calculus problems and I can even cook the hardest things on the menu, but I have not learned the art of manoeuvring the modern vehicle.

To every confession, there is an underlining story often ignored. The story actually forms the gist of that confession; makes it exciting and gossipy as it should be. Why is it ignored, then? Simple. You don’t question about the ingredients of a Lindt chocolate that you enjoy – you merely consume it, revelling in it’s seemingly everlasting taste that can lift moods. I can safely assume that you are all smart enough to recognise the potency of this analogy, so may be I won’t draw the connection to an obvious point; not by the words at-least.

Very recently, I re-started gym to shed off the enormous amount of fat stuffed inside of my body. I am happy to report that I have been able to reform myself into a decent shape once again, but as you know, fat is that lying-around-the-corner curse. Despite all my efforts, I still feel that I need new jeans. I hope you do not doze off to all the insignificant things that you were doing just right now because the idea embedded in this post, which I shall reveal as soon as you affirm your intentions to read this post, is kind of…interesting, and to top it off, it starts off from a hunt for some new jeans.